


Accidents Will Happen

by pocky_slash



Series: Daycare 'Verse [30]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Car Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Charles is in an accident, Erik relives some terrible memories, and the hospital staff is very indulgent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidents Will Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Wow. Sorry for the lengthy delay. Um, this is neither of the stories that come next chronologically, but it's one I've been writing for about eighteen months. Charles explicitly says how much time has past, but this is almost three years after the wedding/Raven's adoption.
> 
> Thanks to **pearlo** for looking it over and my poor mother, who will never see this, for answering a million tiny questions about hospital minutia. Any remaining mistakes are my own or chosen for the narrative of the story. (Yes, I know even an intravenous dose of morphine would take more than five seconds to start working. It's TeeVee Morphine, okay? It's instantaneous.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

It's Charles' fault.

He'd just meant to dart back to the car and grab the bag full of egg cartons from the trunk. He'd been meaning to bring it inside the daycare for almost a month now, and each time they went grocery shopping Erik would roll his eyes and grouse about how he was going to throw the damn things out if Charles didn't get rid of them. It's Thursday morning, Charles doesn't have any other bags aside from his messenger bag and Raven's backpack, and he remembers the cartons as soon as he gets to the door.

"Can you watch Raven for just a tick?" he asks Moira. "I've left something in the car." 

"Sure," Moira says and takes Raven and her backpack and Charles' bag and he only means to run back to the car for a second and he looks left and starts jogging across the street and--

He doesn't look right and he doesn't see the car until it's too late.

_Oh bugger,_ he thinks on impact, _Erik's going to kill me._

***

The trip to the hospital is something of a blur. He remembers Moira checking his pupils and asking him questions and remembers the teenage driver sobbing hysterically and shaking so hard she couldn't dial her phone. He remembers Chris Summers arriving and taking Raven and somewhere along the line, someone called an ambulance, of course. He hit his head rather hard on the asphalt, though, and there's a strange haze to the proceedings, right up until they load him into the ambulance. His right leg hurts, it hurts a lot, and the EMTs seem obsessed with making him wiggle his toes, which just makes it hurt more. They seem to think that's a good thing, though Charles really would like to tell them that it's bloody well not. Moira tells them he's a telepath and they make him test that as well, which is stupid.

"We need to make sure your mind is intact before we can give you anything for the pain," the EMT explains. Oh. He must have projected that last bit.

"Someone needs to call Erik," he says, blinking owlishly at the EMT trying to take his pulse.

"And who's Erik?" the EMT asks. "Boyfriend?"

"Husband," Charles says. "He might be upset."

"I'd imagine," the EMT says. "Charles, can you tell me if you have any allergies I need to know about or any medical conditions?"

"No," Charles says. "Someone needs to call my husband."

"I think your friend Moira was on it," the EMT says. "But if you'd like, someone can call him for you when we get you to the ED. I'm going to give you a shot of morphine for the pain, okay?"

"I can call him," Charles murmurs. "Oh, stupid--I can just--"

_Erik?_ he thinks.

There's a jolt on Erik's end.

_Charles? Why do you sound like that? Why are you--what's wrong?_

And then things just--stop. Mattering. And suddenly, Charles is okay. And maybe he'd like to sleep. And--

_Nothing, everything's good, everything's...dizzy. S'good. Got hit by a car._

_What?!_ Words fizzle out into emotions, shock and fear and confusion and terror and-- _Charles where are you what's going on what--_

He closes his eyes then, tired, so tired, and floating and dizzy and doesn't wake up again until they're wheeling him inside.

***

Charles wakes up on and off as they push him through hospital hallways and doctors lean over his bed thoughtfully. He can feel Erik in the waiting room, can feel his panic and fear and he wants to reach out and soothe it, but can't manage much more than a vague projection of assurance. He's not even sure it gets as far as Erik. Or it might get as far as New Jersey. It's hard to tell, sometimes.

They take him for an x-ray and when they come back, Erik is pacing outside of his room.

"Mr. Xavier's husband," the nurse says. She raises her eyebrows and adds, dryly, "He was shouting."

"Erik!" Charles says. He's delighted because-- _Erik!_ He loves Erik. "I love you."

"Oh thank fuck," Erik says, breathless. He's at Charles' side in a moment, grabbing Charles' hand and holding it between both of his own. "You scared the shit out of me, Charles. Are you okay?" He's shaking, running his hands over Charles' face and hair and chest. "Oh god, baby, tell me you're okay." His fingers flutter over the gash on Charles' forehead where he hit the pavement. "Please, Charles, what's wrong? Are you hurt? What's happening?"

Charles frowns and pets the top of Erik's head.

"Your hair is all wrong," he says, trying to push it back to the way it normally falls. "Let me fix it." Erik is here!

"He's had quite a bit of morphine," the doctor says when Erik turns to him, wide-eyed and still panicked. "He might not be fully cognizant."

"Nothing hurts, it's okay," Charles says, reaching up to pat Erik's hand where it's still lingering on his hairline. "You're upset."

"Of course I'm upset!" Erik shouts. "You were hit by a fucking car! I'm going to find that driver and--"

The railing on the bed starts rattling. So do several of the machines and that's _bad_ and Charles pushes past the fog and squeezes Erik's hand and says, "No, no, sssh. It was my fault. I'm okay. Stop, calm down, love."

"Sir," the doctor says, "if you don't calm down, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. This is very delicate equipment--"

"I'm fine," Erik says, his teeth clenched together and Charles knows he's lying because his mind is a litany of _Charles is hurt, someone hurt Charles, could have been so much worse, what's wrong, I need to find out what's wrong, he looks so small, someone hurt him and I wasn't there_ , but the metal stops vibrating in place and Charles turns his head just enough to kiss Erik's wrist. 

"What happened?" Erik directs the question at the doctor this time, though he's still cradling Charles' face in his hand.

"Mr. Xavier was struck by a car. He hit his head on the concrete and suffered a concussion and his right tibia is fractured. It's a very common break in pedestrian traffic accidents," the doctor says.

"He's going to be okay?" Erik asks.

"He'll be fine," the doctor says. "Because of the location of the break, we'll have to insert a rod so that it sets properly. It's still a relatively minor procedure and we'll be able to release him within a day or two, as long as everything goes smoothly. He'll be on crutches for about five weeks at minimum and possibly a cane for a few weeks after that, depending on how quickly he's able to redevelop musculature and how well the break heals."

"I'll have a bit of metal in me!" Charles says proudly, because that's sexy. Erik likes metal. Erik can move metal and all sorts of other wonderful things and there will be a metal rod inside Charles. "That's sort of sexy, isn't it?"

"No!" Erik snaps. "You were _in a car accident_ , you idiot! There's nothing sexy about it!"

Charles holds up his hand, pinching his thumb and first finger together as he pouts. "A little bit? A little bit sexy?"

"For fuck's sake, are you _brain damaged_?" His eyes go wide and he turns back to the doctor. "He's not actually brain damaged, right?"

"No," the doctor says, "Not brain damaged. Just addled from the morphine, I'm afraid."

Erik closes his eyes and then looks back at Charles, leaning close to kiss his forehead. His hands are shaking where they've gently bracketed Charles' face.

"Hello," Charles says, grinning. Erik is here! 

"Hey," Erik says. "You're all right." 

"I'm great," Charles says, and giggles again. "I love you! I'm glad you're here. I like you. You're very handsome."

Erik exhales, his breath shaky, and leans over to rest his forehead gently against Charles'. "You're not too bad yourself, Xavier," he says and then kisses Charles and Charles likes that. He likes Erik. "I love you too, you idiot. I've never been so scared in my entire fucking life." And Charles can feel it, the fear and anguish and--oh, right, Erik's parents died in a car crash, oh, poor Erik, he was scared, he was so scared--

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against Erik's mouth. "I'm so sorry. I'm okay. I love you." He thinks about how sorry he is, how much he loves Erik, how he would never want to upset him. He thinks it all and pushes it out and Erik starts a bit, then kisses him again, chuckling.

"Baby, you're projecting," he says.

"I know," Charles says. Baby. Ridiculous. Erik said it before, too. He hates that, normally, but it's a little bit nice today. Just a little. "I'm telling you I'm sorry."

"I know you're sorry and I think everyone in a five mile radius knows, too, now," Erik says.

"I'm very sorry," Charles says gravely, and Erik kisses his forehead again and then sits up, still stroking Charles' hair.

"Not your fault," Erik assures him. "Not your fault, Charles."

Charles smiles tentatively and reaches up to trace Erik's cheekbone. "I like your face," he says.

"I like yours too," Erik says, clasping his hand and kissing his fingers. 

The doctor clears his throat, not unkindly, and Erik looks away. Which isn't nice--Charles wants to look at him some more.

"Sir, if I could speak with you for a moment about your husband's treatment and recovery?" he asks.

"Erik," Charles whispers, tugging at Erik's hand. "Eeeeerik."

"Yeah," Erik says. "Of course." He presses an absent kiss to the back of Charles' hand, but he's still not paying attention. "What's going on?"

"Erik!" Charles whines, tugging at his hand. 

"Maybe we could step outside?" the doctor suggests. "It would be a bit less distracting."

"You're obviously not married to a telepath," Erik says. Rude. But he turns back to Charles and kisses him again, which Charles likes, but then stands up, which Charles doesn't like. He pouts, because Erik gives into pouts, or at least tries to make him stop, but Erik ignores him. 

"I'm going to talk to Erik outside for a moment," the doctor says to him. "While I'm gone, Triveni is going to explain what's going to happen and prep you for surgery. Is that okay, Charles?"

"I know what's going to happen," Charles says. He pulls on Erik's hand to keep him from leaving. "Surgery. They're going to put a bit of metal in my leg. Very sexy, metal in my leg."

Erik closes his eyes and Charles can hear him mentally counting to ten. "Charles, you were hit by a car," he says. His voice is level, but Charles can tell he's trying very hard not to shout. "A car _broke your leg_ when it _hit you_ and gave you a concussion. In no way is that sexy. There is absolutely nothing sexy about it. Stop trying to make me think it's sexy, okay?" Erik's all tense and upset, still, which is silly. Everything's _fine_. Charles feels _fine_.

"Mm, 'm fine," Charles says.

"That's not what I asked," Erik says. He sighs and shakes his head. "I'll be right back. If I could have two minutes of quiet, I'll make it up to you later, okay?"

Charles keeps pouting, but he lets go of Erik's hand and allows him to duck out into the hallway with the doctor. He could listen in on the conversation, but that's _boring_ and Charles is _tired_ and he wants Erik to come _back_. Everyone else's minds are boring, thinking about tests and results and it's very humdrum, nothing like Erik, whose mind is brilliant and sharp and perfect, but he's not allowed there right now. It's not fair.

"Hi, Charles," the nurse says, startling him back to his own mind. "My name's Triveni. I'm your nurse and I'm going to walk you through what's going to happen today, okay?"

"Mm," Charles says. "Okay. Surgery, I know."

"Yes," she says. She thinks he's funny. He can't imagine why. "I'm going to disconnect some of these machines and then we're going to take you down to meet a man named Dr. Patel. He's the anesthesiologist. He'll take a little more blood and then he's going to put you to sleep. When you're sleeping, Dr. Brant is going to fix your leg by making a tiny incision and putting a metal rod inside to make sure the bones grow back right. When he's done, we'll take you back out here and you'll wake up."

"And Erik will be here?" Charles asks. Erik is still _not_ here and that's very irritating.

"Considering how loudly he was shouting in the waiting room while you were being x-rayed, I'd imagine so," Triveni says.

"Good," Charles says, leaning back into his pillows. He can see Erik through the window in the wall. Erik can see him, too, and he smiles at Charles. Erik is very handsome.

"Let's get you ready for surgery," Triveni says. "The faster we finish up here, the faster you can see your husband again."

"Oh, then let's!" Charles says, and holds out his arms so she can start unhooking the machines.

***

"It will take an hour, an hour and a half at most," Dr. Brant is telling Erik. Erik's listening, he is, but he's also got an eye on Charles' room where Charles is being prepped for surgery by the nurse. "We make an incision under the knee, near the top of the tibia, and another closer to the base. The rod will be screwed into the bone and both the rod and screws are permanent. They'll stay in unless there's some problem further down the line."

"Right," Erik says. 

"They're all metal, I'm afraid," Dr. Brant continues. "And I couldn't help but notice before--you're a mutant?"

Erik wrenches his gaze away from Charles and tries to look at the doctor levelly, but he's afraid that eight years of overseeing imbeciles has given even his most neutral looks an edge of challenge.

"I am," he says.

"And your power has something to do with metal?" Dr. Brant asks. There's no judgement in his voice and Erik is aware that this man has been nothing but civil to him from the moment he came in, shouting to see Charles, but he can't help his instincts. His instinct, now, is to clam up, defensive and protective.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asks through his teeth. He flexes his fingers involuntarily.

"I just want to make sure that you're comfortable with your husband having a metal rod in his leg, Mr. Lehnsherr," Dr. Brant says. His voice is mild and soothing, but firm. He's shorter than Erik--probably Charles' height--but he holds Erik's eye without flinching, even as Erik is fighting to tamp down his defensiveness. He doesn't want to pick a fight with a doctor who's been, if he's honest, more than patient with him, but he has all this anger, all this fear, all these feelings rushing through him and he doesn't know what to do with them, doesn't have anywhere to direct them. Charles is fine and he _knows that_ , he can see Charles, smiling dopily at the nurse, he's fighting off a sort of contact high from having Charles floating around the edge of his perception. But Charles was hurt and Erik wasn't there and that dredges up so many feelings, so many memories, that Erik doesn't know how to process them all.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Erik asks, with slightly less menace.

"I'm not judging," Dr. Brant says. "I'm just making sure. I think you've shown remarkable restraint, given the circumstances. But it would be careless of me not to ask before we proceed."

Erik exhales and rolls his shoulders, trying to lose some of the tension that he knows won't disappear completely until Charles is home, tucked in bed.

"It's fine," Erik says. "It won't be a problem. I'd never hurt Charles--even when I lose control, my brain knows he's off limits. Not that I lose control frequently."

"Of course not," Dr. Brant says and suddenly the idea blindsides Erik out of nowhere. He speaks before he's even has time to examine the thought.

"Can I--can I see the pin and the screws?" he asks. "I mean, I know I can't touch them, but can I just--if I could just look at them, just for a moment?"

Dr. Brant studies him and he feels a blush blooming down from his cheeks and across his neck and chest, but the doctor just nods.

"I don't see why not," he says. "We'll go now, before Triveni finishes up with Charles so you can talk to him again before we put him under."

"Thanks," Erik says. He manages to meet the doctor's eyes before his gaze skitters away with embarrassment.

Dr. Brant leads him down the hallway and through some swinging doors, deeper into the hospital. Erik's beginning to rethink this plan--he doesn't like being this far away from Charles, he doesn't trust hospitals, and his pulse is speeding up now that Charles is out of earshot. He tries to push through--he knows it's illogical and he can still feel Charles gliding in and out of his mind--but he finds himself spinning his wedding band on his finger, his chest clenching as he realizes that Charles' ring is cold and no longer on his hand.

He swallows past the lump in his throat that tastes like panic and reaches out for Charles--

_Erik! Hello! Erik! Where are you?_

_Just going to look at something with the doctor,_ Erik responds as his chest loosens slightly. _I'll be right back. I'll see you again before they take you to surgery, okay?_

_Mm, okay. Come back soon._

_I will,_ Erik promises, and ducks into a room when Dr. Brant opens the door.

The metal rod and screws are sealed in plastic, of course, but Erik doesn't need to touch them to feel them. They're solid and secure and he spreads his fingers, his hand hovering just over the plastic as he memorizes every groove, every twist of each screw, every particle of the metal that's going to be bound to his husband's leg. He tucks it away with the knowledge of Charles' wedding ring and the feel of the watch he rarely removes, ties them all tightly together, and then opens his eyes.

"Is it up to snuff?" Dr. Brant asks, but his tone is serious and when Erik nods his assent, the doctor only nods back. "Good," he says. "Let's go see Charles."

They head back to Charles' room in silence, but Erik stops Dr. Brant right before they reach the door. It occurs to him, suddenly, that Charles is going to be unconscious for at least two hours. Unconscious and out of his sight and unable to talk to him and--

He pulls out his wallet and removes a business card.

"Look," he says. "Contrary to the speech I just gave you about control, I think I might need to spend Charles' surgery somewhere there aren't hundreds of delicate machines keeping people alive." He hands the card to Dr. Brant. "Can you have someone call me the second he gets out of surgery? I'm not going far, I just--"

"I understand," the doctor says. He takes the card and slides it into his pocket. "I'll do it myself. There's a cafe down at the corner and the library is about a block away if you need a distraction."

"Thanks," Erik says. "I think I'm just going to go sit in the empty lot next to the Peruvian place." He tries to smile, but he doesn't think he gets all the way there. Dr. Brant nods, and gestures for Erik to enter Charles' room.

Charles is propped up on some pillows and smiling benignly. His smile intensifies when he sees Erik and he holds out his hands like a greedy child on his birthday. Erik crosses the room in three quick strides and sits on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around Charles as tightly as he dares, careful not to disturb his IV.

"Hello!" Charles says. Erik tucks Charles' head under his chin.

"Hi, there," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Charles slurs against his throat.

"I'll bet," Erik says. "Listen, they're going to take you to fix your leg, now. I'll be here when you wake up, okay?"

Charles rolls his eyes. Even if Erik can't see it, he can feel the disdain.

"I'm not stupid, darling," he murmurs and presses his lips to Erik's shirt, right above his collar bone. "I know how surgery works." He rubs his nose against Erik's throat. "I like you."

"I know you do," Erik says, petting Charles' hair. "And with that as the most important thing on your mind, I don't know why I doubted you're 100% in control of your faculties and entirely aware of what's going on around you." Charles hums again and curls closer. His hair tickles Erik's chin and it's with a great deal of reluctance that Erik pulls back and pushes Charles gently back onto the bed. "I'll be here when you wake up," he says again. Charles is going to be fine. It's a simple, mundane procedure that the doctors have done a million times and he'll be absolutely fine--he'll be better than fine, because when he comes out of it, his leg won't be in two pieces anymore.

But Erik's heart has been racing since Moira said the words "car accident," since Charles thought it at him before abruptly cutting himself off. He doesn't think he'll be able to calm down until Charles is home in their bed, in their room, in their house. When he closes his eyes for more than a second, he's back on the street outside of the apartment in Philadelphia, he's breathless and sweating and listening to a well meaning police officer say--

He opens his eyes and blinks rapidly against the fog that's nearly overtaken him. He brushes Charles' hair back off of his forehead and presses his hand against the side of Charles' face, grounding himself. Charles' hair is getting long again; he'll be wanting to cut it again soon, even though Erik likes it like this.

"I love you," he tells Charles, because that's important. He says it every day and he knows that Charles never doubts it, but he's not sure he could live with himself if anything happened and he hadn't said it when he had a chance.

"Love you too," Charles says, but he's frowning. "You're going away."

"I can't come into surgery with you, Charles," he says. "Like I said, I'll be here when you wake up. Promise."

Erik backs up, letting go of Charles' hand and letting Dr. Brant and Triveni stand on either side of Charles' bed.

"Triveni and I are going to take you down to the OR to get you all set up for your procedure, Charles," Dr. Brant says. "You're going to meet Dr. Patel, the anesthesiologist, and he's going to put you to sleep. When you wake up again, you'll be back here with Erik. Does that sound okay?"

Charles nods, but it's with caution and his eyes don't leave Erik's. 

"I'll be right here when you wake up," Erik says again. "Dr. Brant will make sure of it, won't you, Dr. Brant?" He tries to imbue the words with _Because I promised him, goddammit, and if I'm not, you'll regret it._ Dr. Brant merely raises an eyebrow.

"I certainly will," he says calmly. "Time to go, Mr. Xavier."

"See you soon," Erik says, raising his hand in a pathetic wave. Charles waves back, brow furrowed, as Dr. Brant and Triveni wheel his bed out of the room and down the hall.

Erik watches until the doors swing shut behind them and after two deep breaths, hands clammy and cold, he stalks out of the room and down to the ground floor and out of the hospital. He holds onto the wisp of Charles in the back of his mind as he hurries down the sidewalk and away from the building, elbowing past strangers and darting across the street (after carefully checking the traffic; they can't both end up in the hospital), hands shoved in his pockets, breath coming short and harsh.

He's projecting his issues. He's not stupid. He knows this is more about his parents than it is about Charles, but this is the sort of shit Charles usually walks him through and Charles is blissed out on morphine and about to to be put under general anesthesia. Charles was hit by a car when he was supposed to be safe at work, when Erik wasn't there, and, shit, he knows he doesn't need to protect Charles, that Charles is one of the strongest, most powerful people he's ever met, but he can't help the compulsion and can't help but think it's his _job_ to make sure Charles and Raven are safe and he fucked it up.

There's a rusty chain-link fence surrounding the empty lot next to the Peruvian market and Erik's sure he's probably trespassing, but the fence is no obstacle and when he's sitting down in the dirt, surrounded by overgrown grass, he finally feels like he can move without accidentally bringing a building down on top of him.

He feels Charles fading into unconsciousness. It's an awful feeling, and he fumbles with his cellphone to distract himself, calling up Moira's number with shaking fingers.

She answers on the second ring.

"What's going on?" she asks quickly, quietly. He can hear the children singing a song in the background, one of the ridiculous call and repeat songs that Raven and Charles torture him with on car trips.

"He's fine," Erik says, though he knows his voice isn't even. "He's in surgery. He has a concussion and a broken leg and the doctor seems to think it's nothing but the way it's broken--it needs to be stabilized. They have to put a metal rod in."

He hears Moira's long exhale on the other line.

"Oh thank god," she says. "I mean, he was still awake and he wasn't bleeding and he seemed mostly okay, but--"

"It's two hours at most," Erik says. "I'm just--I have to wait. I have to sit here and he's unconscious--"

"Whoa," Moira says. "Are you okay, Erik?"

"No," he snaps. "No, my husband's in _surgery_ and I can't even stay in the building because I'm afraid I'll crush every machine in a three mile radius if I get too anxious. I'm sitting in a fucking field, three blocks away, and I can't catch my breath and I don't fucking know what the _hell_ I'm going to do if something happens to Charles because how can I--how do you come back from that, Moira? God, what the _fuck_? What the fuck will I do? How can I--how can I--"

His head is pounding and he can feel the rusty steel fence caging him in and it's good, it's solid, it's something to focus on because he can't fill his lungs with air fast enough.

"Erik! Erik!" Moira is calling his name. He can't hear the children singing anymore, just the gentle rush of traffic and the birds in the trees. "Erik, you need to calm the fuck down, okay? You're having a panic attack."

"Like hell," he gasps, though he knows she's right.

"Charles is going to be fine, Erik," Moira says. "He's having a stupid, harmless procedure that the doctors do a dozen times a day. Two hours, you said. It's already been five minutes. An hour fifty-five and you'll be sitting next to his bed, waiting for him to wake up, all woozy and drugged and trying to climb into your lap the way he does when he's drunk. Breathe, okay? Breathe in and count to five and let it out."

Erik squeezes his eyes shut. His hands are shaking and his ears are ringing but he does his best. He breathes in, he holds the air in his lungs, he ignores the wild beating of his heart and then breathes out out out.

"That's good, honey," Moira says. "Come on. Another deep breath. You're fine. Charles is fine. In and out, Erik."

He does as she says, rubbing at his forehead with the hand that's not clutching the phone. The taste of adrenaline is still bitter in the back of his throat and he pulls his knees up against his chest, leans over to rest his forehead on them. 

"Fuck," he whispers, the word sharp and hot in his throat. "Fuck."

"Hey, it's going to be okay," Moira says. "Really, Erik, I promise." 

It doesn't feel like it's going to be okay. It feels like Erik is going to shake apart from his core. He knows he should be better than this, should be strong and stoic, knows that he has Raven to think of, that Charles would want him to hold himself together, but he can't. He needs to focus all of his attention on breathing and--

"That's fine, honey," Moira says. "That's all you need to do."

And apparently he was saying all of that out loud.

"Breathe in and out and I'm gonna sit here with you until the doctor calls, okay? Is your phone charged?" 

"Yeah," he manages to say, breathless.

"Good," Moira says. "Just keep breathing until the doctor calls back and then go see Charles. Let me tell you what Raven did at daycare today."

***

Moira talks to Erik for an hour and thirty-six minutes. Erik feels each second tick by on his watch, forces himself not to get more tense, to breathe and try and listen to the meaningless nonsense Moira is spewing about Raven and Alex and Hank and Ororo, walking him minute-by-minute through the day. She moves on to stories about Charles in college, and any other day Erik would be hanging off them, filing them away for future blackmail, but today he just breathes and breathes and breathes until the phone beeps in his ear, cutting off Moira's words.

"Doctor," he says, breathlessly. "It's the doctor."

He doesn't elaborate, just switches to the other line as quickly as he can manage.

"Hello?" he says. His heart is still hammering in his chest.

"Mr. Lehnsherr, it's Dr. Brant," he hears. "Charles is fine. We've just wheeled him into recovery and if you'd like to come back and--"

"I'm on my way," he says. The words are wet and hoarse, but Erik doesn't care. He gets to his feet and gives himself ten seconds to breathe deeply, to shiver and shake, and then swallows it all down and starts walking back towards the hospital.

He still has his scribbled visitor name badge stuck to his shirt, but he's not sure if it's that or the look of determination in his eyes that stops the orderlies from questioning him as he strides past the front desk and heads for the stairwell. Three flights up might help him burn off some of this energy, and even though he assumes the worst of it has passed, he doesn't know that he trusts himself in an elevator right now. 

He nearly barrels into Triveni when he emerges from the stairwell, and she smiles when she sees him.

"We've got him in a different room now," she says. "Post-op. It's room 314. It's off to the left, sweetie."

He doesn't bother to thank her, walking briskly in the direction she's pointed, eyes, jumping from room placard to room placard until he's at 314 and--

And there's Charles sleeping peacefully in his bed as Dr. Brant makes some notes on his chart. He might look up as Erik stumbles towards the chair next to Charles' bed, but if he does, Erik doesn't notice.

"There you are," the doctor says as Erik takes Charles hand--small and cold in his own, but with a steady, soothing pulse. "Everything went perfectly smoothly. It was textbook, really. We'll see how he does when he wakes up, but you should be able to take him home tomorrow afternoon."

Erik swallows compulsively and nods. Belatedly, he sees the cast around Charles' leg. It's elevated on a stack of pillows, the only part of him not swaddled in blankets. Erik spares a thought for his toes; it's cold in the room and Charles' fingers are freezing.

"He should come out of it in about thirty minutes or so," Dr. Brant continues. "He might be a little confused or unstable. Sometimes the anesthesia disorients people especially telepaths, and between the concussion and the morphine, he wasn't thinking very clearly to begin with. It'll help that you're here, but don't be alarmed if he's not sure where he is or what's happened. It will come back to him within a couple of minutes. If he's scared or upset, do your best to reassure him that he's okay."

"Good," Erik says. "Thanks. I--great. Thank you." He doesn't bother to look at the doctor, focusing his attention on Charles' face as he reaches out to touch his cheek and his forehead. Someone's cleaned up the dressing on his head wound. It's crisp and white and fresh and Erik's fingers drag over it before tracing the freckles across Charles' nose and coming to rest on his jaw. His breathing is regular, his heart is beating, and Erik can feel the metal rod in his leg. It's bound securely to the bone and blood warm and he lets out a long breath that it feels like he's been holding for hours.

"I'll leave you alone for a bit," Dr. Brant says. "When he wakes up, buzz the desk and and tell them to let me know."

"I will," Erik says. He's fucking exhausted. "I--thanks again. Just. Yeah."

He hears the door close, but he doesn't pay it any heed. He kisses the back of Charles' hand and lets his heart slow down and settles in to wait.

***

Waiting isn't nearly as bad now that he's holding onto Charles' hand. He spends the time pulling apart his feelings and packing them back into their boxes, stowing them away out of sight, in the back reaches of his mind with all the other things it's best not to dwell on. The last of the panic and adrenaline work their way out of his system, and by the time Charles is blinking his eyes open, even the shaking's long past.

"Charles?" he says quietly at the first eyelash flutter. "Charles? Are you awake?"

"I don't know," Charles mutters. He turns his head away and pulls his hand back. Erik realizes what he's doing just in time to stand up and very gently restrain his other hand.

"Be careful," he says as Charles rubs his eyes with his free hand. "You've got an IV in."

"Why do I have an IV in?" he asks. He sounds small and confused and the tendrils of awareness that are sliding around Erik's mind are more tentative than they've been in a very long time. "Where am I?"

He turns back to Erik, blinking at him, and Erik's so fucking happy to see Charles' eyes open he might burst. Erik sits on the edge of the bed, still grasping the hand with the IV, and brushes Charles' hair off his forehead.

"Do you remember what happened this morning?" he asks.

"No," Charles says. His face is crumpling in on itself. "What's going on? Where am I? Erik, why are there so many people here? What's happened? I don't know what's going on, I don't--"

"Hey, hey, breathe," Erik says. "You're in the hospital. You're fine, Charles. You broke your leg. You got hit by a car this morning on your way into daycare. Do you remember?"

"No!" Charles says again. "Is Raven okay? Is--why can't I remember anything? What's--"

"Raven's fine," Erik assures him. "She's at daycare right now. You had to have surgery. It's going to take a couple minutes for everything to settle." Charles is getting increasingly more anxious. Erik is too, though he's not sure if it's the result of bleedover from Charles, now clinging to his subconscious like a psychic limpet, or from how unsettling it is to watch Charles so deeply upset.

" _Erik_ ," Charles says, and he grabs Erik's hands, both of them, and squeezes.

"It's okay," Erik says. "I promise, it's going to be okay." He spends exactly a half second wondering if it's okay to climb into Charles' hospital bed before deciding he doesn't give a fuck. He moves cautiously, conscious of Charles' leg and the IV pole on the opposite side of the bed, but once he's stretched along the edge of the bed, Charles rolls right into his arms. He's careful as he can be, rubbing his fingers through Charles' hair and against his scalp and shushing him. "It's okay. It's okay, Charles, you're fine. Everything's fine. Just take a deep breath. It will come back to you."

He's profoundly glad he managed to tamp down his own anxiety before Charles woke. The last thing he needs is Erik's fears feeding into his hysteria.

"You're all right," Erik says again, pressing a kiss to the top of Charles' head. "I've got you. You're going to be fine. Everything's going to be all right."

This is easy. This is fine. Erik can do this. He's not particularly good at taking care of people, on the whole, but he's found that taking care of Charles and Raven comes second nature out of an honest desire for their continued happiness. It may have been a challenge, early in their relationship, to know what to say and do to make things better--he remembers more than one night when Charles was upset and Erik could only stand by, desperate and clueless for some hint as to how to make him smile again--but by now, it's instinct. 

"I've got you," he says. "You're okay."

It takes a few minutes for the panic to subside, though Charles' eyes are still foggy and he doesn't let go of the tight grip he has on Erik's chest. His heart rate slows and his breathing evens out and his hands stop shaking as Erik rubs his back.

"I was hit by a car," he finally says, groggy.

"You were," Erik says. "You scared the fucking shit out of me."

"I'm sorry," Charles says. "Are you okay?"

Erik rolls his eyes. "Yes, dear, _I'm_ fine. I'm not the one who just had surgery."

"Yes," Charles says, petting his chest, "but you were upset. I can tell. Your brain is still in fight-or-flight mode."

"Yes, well, I've decided to put both of those options aside for the time being to take care of my befuddled husband," Erik says. "How are you feeling?"

"My leg hurts," Charles says. "And it's difficult to get my head in order. Everything's foggy and there are a lot of minds in the building, most of them discontent." He's sounding more and more like himself as each second passes, though, which goes a long way towards settling Erik's nerves. When he looks up at Erik again, blowing ineffectively at the hair hanging down in front of his face, his eyes are clear, if tired. "Sorry about--all of that," he says. "Waking up was a bit disorienting."

"Don't be stupid," Erik says. "There's nothing to apologize for." 

Charles shifts around, flexing his fingers and propping himself up on an elbow so he can scrutinize his cast. He moves to run a hand through his hair, but stop abruptly and frowns at the IV instead.

"You're probably not supposed to be up here," he points out, voice mild, when he looks back at Erik.

"Are you actually complaining?" Erik asks, and Charles places his hand on Erik's hip in response, holding him firmly in place.

"Did you really make the doctor show you the surgical hardware?" Charles asks, a smile creeping slowly across his face. "That's very sweet."

Erik scowls at him.

"I think it's time to call Dr. Brant back," he says, but doesn't actually move. He wants to look at Charles another minute longer, grey and tired but awake, eyes full of humor and affection. His touch is sure and measured, stroking along Erik's hip and up to the dip of his waist, his hand settling into the curve of Erik's body like that's where it belongs. That _is_ where it belongs.

"I'm so sorry to worry you," Charles says quietly into the shrinking space between them. "I hate to think of you so alone and unnerved. Don't tell me it's not my fault."

Erik doesn't. It is Charles' fault, in a way, for being so fucking important and for not thinking of his own safety above all else. 

"You're here now," Erik says. He brushes his lips across Charles' forehead, just a ghost of a kiss. "Everything's fine. That's what's important."

He should really call the doctor.

"You can wait a bit longer, can't you?" Charles asks, almost before the thought is fully formed. "I'd--can you just hold me for another moment?"

It's not a large bed. He doesn't think they'd both be able to lie on it shoulder to shoulder, but that doesn't matter. He's careful, of course, because of the cast and the IV and because Charles was hit by a car and is probably bruised all over. He's careful because Charles is strong and solidly built and energetic, but a part of Erik's mind is still reeling in fear at the thought of losing him and he can't help but think of Charles as fragile in this moment. He pulls Charles against him, closing those last few inches until his arms are tight around Charles' back and Charles' face is pressed against Erik's chest. Charles' fingers curl around Erik's shoulder, holding on just as tight, and this is good. This is perfect. This is exactly what he needs.

He lets out a long, unsteady breath.

"Everything's fine," he says again, and he doesn't even pretend it's for Charles' benefit.

***

Charles dozes with his head on Erik's arm and his thoughts twining in and out of Erik's, anxious one moment and desperately relieved the next. The juxtaposition of the emotions should be jarring, but just being in Erik's mind, having the familiar weight and warmth and feel curling around him, is soothing. He's sore all over and a little groggy from the medication. His leg is itchy and his toes are cold and he feels stupider than he has in a long time, but Erik's petting his hair and murmuring in German and as stupid as this accident was, he's survived. He's fine.

He's half asleep when he notices the approach of the nurse--Triveni, right, Triveni was her name--and by the time he realizes that he should shake Erik off, it's too late.

"Now, Mr. Lehnsherr," Triveni says, and Erik startles, but he's still careful not to jar Charles. "You must know that's against the rules."

"He was upset," Erik mutters, his hand curling around the back of Charles' skull, holding him close.

Triveni clucks her tongue at him. "You should have called the doctor when he woke up," she says, and picks up the phone from the wall. She hits a few numbers and then says into the reciever, "Page Dr. Brant to room 314. Mr. Xavier's awake."

Triveni makes Erik get off the bed, but it's with pointed looks instead of shouting and once he's sitting upright, she carries on with her business, saying nothing about the way Erik is still mostly sitting on the mattress, cradling Charles' head in his lap.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Xavier?" she asks him.

"Tired," Charles says. "Sore. Fuzzy. Itchy. Stupid."

"Good," Erik mutters, "you'd better feel stupid." His fingers skirt the bandage taped to Charles' forehead. That's itchy too. Charles is just going to have to resign himself to being entirely uncomfortable until the cast comes off.

"Can you tell me the date?" Triveni asks him while taking his pulse.

"Oh god, please don't judge my cognizance on that," Charles says. "I can tell you that it's Thursday, which was supposed to be Color Day, but I'm certain Moira scrapped that as soon as I hit the pavement."

Triveni glances at Erik.

"Yeah," Erik says. "It's this whole thing with...paint. There's a story. And stuff. He's right, anyway."

"Good," Triveni says. "I'm assuming you recognize your husband--" Erik snorts, but Charles hums in the affirmative. "And you know where you are?"

"The hospital," Charles says.

"Do you know why?"

"I was hit by a car," Charles says. "Because I ran out into traffic without looking, something I hope our daughter did not witness."

She checks his pupils and he fights against his impulse to squint at the light.

"I'm thinking of a number," she says.

"Fifteen," he says. He doesn't even have to try--she's practically shouting it. He supposes she's used to dealing with telepaths who aren't quite as strong as he is. Plus, the louder she thinks, the less inclined people will be to root around in the rest of her mind. Still, he gets the number along with the fact that she chose it because that's how old her own daughter is, though she imagines Charles and Erik's daughter is much younger, given that Charles still looks like a baby himself. He pulls away without going any deeper. 

Charles is relatively sure his powers are unscathed, but just in case, he dives into Erik's head, drifting deeper and deeper, brushing against his senses, his motor functions, his memory....

"You done in there?" Erik asks.

"Just checking to make sure everything's still functioning," Charles says.

Erik thinks very clearly about the things they got up to in the bedroom last night after they put Raven to bed.

"You're awful," Charles says. Erik leans over and kisses his forehead.

"I wouldn't want you to forget anything important," Erik says. Charles huffs at him, but he can feel the concern still lapping against his mind, how very frightened Erik was, how very much he treasures Charles, and Charles finds he can't really stay annoyed.

"I want to take your vitals," Triveni continues, "and Dr. Brant will probably want to look you over himself when he gets in. We're going to keep you here overnight for observation and as long as everything goes smoothly, your husband can take you home tomorrow afternoon." 

"Wonderful," Charles says. Erik, however, is perturbed.

"Can't I take him home tonight and observe him?" Erik says. "If there's no medical stuff you need to do, I don't see why I can't bring him home tonight."

"Are you a trained medical professional?" Triveni asks him.

"No," Erik says.

"Then I can't release him into your care in good conscience," Triveni says. "If something _were_ to go wrong, those first few minutes will be crucial. It's better to have someone on-site than to waste time driving to the hospital, don't you agree?"

Erik scowls and Charles pats his hand. It's more for Erik's benefit, he knows. Charles doesn't mind the stay--it will be uncomfortable, certainly, and lonely and exhausting, but he'll survive it. Erik still hasn't quite calmed, however. There's a fear and a tension lingering in his mind, pulsing softly in the background, obvious in the way his fingers tighten around Charles' hand.

"I'll be fine, darling," Charles says. "You can take the baby out for dinner, watch all those movies you know I hate after you put her to bed, and clean up the mess in the living room without me pestering you to keep everything. It will be a dream."

"It really won't," Erik says, and lets go of Charles' hand so Triveni can take his blood pressure. 

"Why don't you go find me a cup of tea?" Charles suggests. Erik is a bit menacing as he lurks behind Triveni, and while she seems unphased, at this point things might go more smoothly if Erik takes a break. Erik seems to disagree if his stormy expression is anything to go by.

"I'm sure they have people for that," Erik says. Triveni turns to him and raises an eyebrow. "Not _you_ , of course, but...people...."

He looks beseechingly at Charles.

"I'd really love a cup of tea, darling," Charles says. "I'll be perfectly fine with Triveni for five minutes. Why don't you get yourself a cup of coffee, too? You're looking a little peaky. My wallet is--" He turns to Triveni. "Actually, what happened to my things when I switched rooms?"

"They're right here," Erik says before Triveni can respond. He opens the drawer of the bedside table and pulls out a large plastic bag containing the dirty remains of Charles' clothes, his wallet, his phone and--oh. His wedding ring floats out of the bag and over to the bed. Charles snatches it from the air and places it back on his finger. He smiles at Erik softly.

"Is that better?" he asks. Erik doesn't say anything, but his expression shifts minutely and some of the tension in his shoulders dissipates. 

"It's probably going to be Lipton," Erik warns, and leans over to kiss him. He fishes Charles' wallet out of the bag. "I'll be back in five minutes. If you need anything--anything at all--" He taps the side of his head.

"Of course, love," Charles says. "Go on, then."

One last look and Erik reluctantly drags himself out into the hallway. Charles watches him go and then turns back to Triveni with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry about that," he says. 

"It's fine, honey," she replies. "It's almost sweet. How long have you been married?" She notes something down and takes off the blood pressure cuff.

"It'll be three years in the fall," Charles says. Triveni pulls out a penlight.

"Follow the light," she says. "How old is your daughter?"

"She'll be five," Charles says, trying not to squint as he moves his eyes to track the light.

"Oh, that's a great age," Triveni says. "Kindergarten is fun. She'll be learning new things every day and out of your hair."

"We've got another year before that, I'm afraid," Charles says. Triveni puts the penlight away and makes another notation on his chart. "She'll be five later in the fall, so she'll miss the kindergarten cut-off. It's probably a blessing, though--she'll be with her friends this way and, maturity-wise, I think the extra year will do her good."

"School can be tricky that way," Trivani says. 

"I'm a teacher, so I definitely know first hand," Charles says. Before she can ask him what age--the question is right there are the forefront of her mind, on the tip of her tongue--Dr. Brant returns.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Xavier," the doctor says. "How are you feeling?"

They go through the whole rigmarole again--Charles reports back how he's feeling, where it hurts, recounts the accident, and apologizes for Erik, thought Dr. Brant similarly waves off Erik's hovering behavior.

"Let's talk recovery," Dr. Brant says. "We'd like to keep you here until tomorrow afternoon at the very least, but barring any complications, we can release you then. You'll be in the cast for at least five weeks--after five weeks, I'd like you to come back and we can assess how well you're healing. We might need to extend the cast for a bit longer after that."

"Okay," Charles says. "But...crutches until then, right?"

"For the first week, I'd like you to try and stay off of it entirely," Dr. Brant says, and Charles' heart sinks. He's not particularly good at staying still. There are practical considerations, too--they'll need to hire a sub for the daycare, at least for a week, but more likely for the whole duration. "The next four weeks, try to keep as much weight off of it as possible, but we can get you set up with some crutches to move around. That's not free reign to run all over the place, mind you. You'll still need to keep it elevated as much as possible, and for the duration of your recovery, you shouldn't be lifting anything heavy."

"Define 'heavy,'" Charles says. The sinking in his heart turns into nausea as he peeks into the doctor's mind. Heavy is...not so heavy as it turns out.

"Anything over ten pounds."

It's just the exhaustion, missing his family, the delayed trauma of the accident. That's why he's tearing up.

"My baby--my four year old--" he stutters, and Dr. Brant looks genuinely sorry.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to stick to holding her on your lap," he says. "Any extra weight falling on your bad leg could redamage the break before it's through healing. I'm sorry, Mr. Xavier."

Charles tries to keep his sniffling casual as Dr. Brant outlines the rest of his recovery--a check-in after five weeks, then possibly a cane for another week or two, then another check-in--but not being able to hold Raven for five weeks--he doesn't know what he's going to do. He's miserable just thinking about it, and even the painkillers Dr. Brant has Triveni slip into his IV don't relieve the tension in his shoulders. He feels stupid for sending Erik away, even for just a few minutes. 

There's nothing to it, though--Erik will be back shortly and Charles calling out to him will just upset him unduly. Dr. Brant leaves with a promise to check up on him again before the end of his shift, and Charles settles in for the long haul. 

***

Erik buys a coffee and cup of hot water with a sad looking tea bag from the hospital canteen. He uses a five dollar bill from Charles' wallet and then sits down at a table for a minute to get his head back on straight. 

Charles is fine. He's upstairs right now, chatting with the nurse about Raven. He can tell--Charles is lingering in his consciousness and Erik can catch stray thoughts about Raven's schooling and the daycare and kindergarten next year. He can feel the ring on Charles' finger, the rod in his leg, and something round against his skin that might be a stethoscope. He's awake. He's cheerful enough, given the pain he must be in and the fact that he's stuck in a hospital filled with sick, miserable people.

Erik sighs and rubs his forehead. He's stuck with a lingering phantom headache from the panic attack he had earlier and it's keeping him from being able to concentrate, from being able to get his head back in order. He compartmentalizes. That's how he lives his life. That's how he takes everything the world throws at him and keeps moving. Charles said, when they first met, that he was uniquely and astonishingly good at it. He's had the pain of his parents' death locked away in a box for years. He almost never opens it, and when he does, it's with care. It's not like this, exploding outward, unwanted.

It's the past. It's a long time ago. It was terrible, what happened to his parents, but Charles is okay and Charles and Raven are what matter now. Charles and Raven are his present, his life, and they depend on him. He needs to be here for them, not stuck in the past, terrified that he'll come home to more bad news.

He turns Charles' wallet over in his hands and unfolds it. There's a picture of Erik and Raven in the front slot. Erik thinks it's from a trip to the Xavier house in Montauk last summer. Credit cards, rewards cards for every goddamn coffeeshop he's ever stepped foot in, a few of Erik's business cards, a few of Charles', a few of James Howlett's, a wallet-sized daycare class photo, Raven's class photo, a photo of the two of them....

Erik takes the last one out and looks at it. It's a old picture. He thinks it's from when they were first dating. Charles looks so young, for all he hasn't changed much in five years. He's sitting on a high stool in Moira's kitchen and Erik is standing next to him, leaning back with his arm resting on the counter behind Charles. There's something about their posture that isn't quite familiar yet, or maybe isn't quite as familiar as they've become. 

They're becoming more familiar every day. Still, after five years, there are things Erik doesn't know about Charles. He likes learning them. He hopes, one day, he'll learn everything there is to know, but in the meantime, he appreciates every new discovery. He has years to make all of those discoveries. The world hasn't taken Charles from him yet, and instead of being fretful of the close call, Erik should be wrestling all he can out of their time together.

He smooths the curled corners of the photo out with his thumb and then slides it back into Charles' wallet and folds it closed. He takes another deep breath and then puts Charles' wallet into his pocket and picks up their drinks.

Charles--awake and alert and without lasting damage--is upstairs waiting for him.

***

Erik is much calmer when he returns to Charles' room with a weak cup of canteen tea. Not just superficially--his mind is clearer and he settles into the chair next to Charles' bed with much less backchat and hovering. Charles is exhausted and in pain, but it's easier to relax with Erik next to him, reading trashy entertainment articles off of his phone and adding his own commentary. He eventually runs down to the giftshop, promising Charles he won't be more than a minute, and returns with a paperback copy of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._

"I know you've read it," he says, "but it was the only halfway decent thing they had."

He cracks the spine, and the next two hours pass pleasantly enough, with the sound of Erik's voice narrating Harry's third year at Hogwarts, his thumb gently stroking the back of Charles' hand. It's better than television, and Charles finds himself lingering on the precipice of sleep. 

Around five-thirty, Charles begins to receive visitors--Tony and Steve, first, with Erik's briefcase and laptop and StarkPad and all the other belongings he left in his office in his rush to get to the hospital. Steve has flowers, too, a bouquet of sunflowers, which happen to be the some of the only flowers that Erik isn't allergic to. After Tony and Steve, James Howlett comes by with a rainbow frosted cupcake that he somehow delivers with a straight face ("Birthday party in peds," he says. "Stole it for you."). A few daycare parents, past and present, who happen to be employed at the hospital stick their heads in to say hi, and by six-thirty, Charles is utterly exhausted. His painkillers are wearing off, his leg is throbbing, he can't escape the sadness buffeting his shields, and it must show on his face, because Erik puts down the book and moves to sit on the edge of Charles' bed.

"No more visitors," he says. He strokes Charles hair back from his forehead. 

"How about just a few more?" Moira says from the hallway.

Charles unfurls his telepathy, held tight and shielded against the misery of the hospital. He's a little shocked. People don't frequently sneak up on him, and they certainly don't frequently sneak up on him with one of the two people he tries to keep constant tabs on.

"Oh, ducky, come here," he says, reaching around Erik and over the edge of the bed, holding out his arms as Raven scampers across the room from the doorway. Erik gives her a boost up onto the bed and then Charles is hugging her tightly against his chest. Some of the exhaustion and the misery melts away, just like that, now that he's holding on to his daughter. "Darling, are you okay?"

She wrinkles her nose and frowns at him when he pulls back.

"I'm okay," she says. "There was no Color Day today, though. Aunt Moira said you got hurt. Will you be okay?" She looks over her shoulder at the cast on his leg. Charles brushes her cheek with his thumb, oddly uncentered. 

"I am," he says, looking back to Raven. "Daddy behaved very badly and tried to cross the street without looking."

"You need to look both ways, Daddy," Raven says sternly.

"He knows," Erik says. "And from now on it's our job to remind him, okay, baby?"

"Okay!" Raven says. Then, brightly, "Can we make _flashcards_?"

Erik shakes his head as Charles laughs and hugs her again.

"Your child," he says. "Come on, Monkey, let's let Moira say hello." He lifts Raven onto his lap and shifts backwards towards the end of the bed, so Moira can approach Charles and hug him.

"You're okay?" she asks. "You're really okay?"

"I'm fine," Charles assures her. He's getting sick of answering that question, though he recognizes that it's not Moira's fault. "Sore, tired, and feeling utterly stupid, but I'll be fine in a few weeks' time."

"My heart stopped when you went down," Moira says. She buries her face in his neck and hugs him harder. "I'm hugging you because I'd feel bad beating the shit out of you while you're in the hospital, which is what I really want to do."

"I love you too," he tells her, petting her hair. "I'll be okay. Thank you for taking charge and taking over and taking care of Raven and Erik. You were brilliant, I'm sure."

"Hell yeah, I was," she says. She straightens up, loosening her hold until she's just holding him by the shoulders. "I'm glad you're okay. Please don't ever scare me like that again."

"I'm under strict orders to watch myself," Charles says. 

Moira inspects him for another moment and then declares, "You'll be fine."

Charles looks over her shoulder at Erik, sitting at the foot of the bed with Raven on his lap.

"I'm already fine," he says, and smiles at Erik. In response, Erik grasps his good ankle and squeezes gently. 

"Good," Moira says. She stands up and kisses his forehead. "I'll leave you guys alone to get your shit together. I'll stop by tomorrow after daycare?"

"Thanks, darling," Charles says.

"Lehnsherr," Moira says, "get up here." 

Erik looks predictably wary, but he moves Raven to the bed and stands up, keeping his distance.

"What?" he asks. Moira gestures him forward into a hug.

"Come on," she says when he doesn't move, "this is the price of me dealing with your neuroses. Come get it over with."

Charles tries to hide his smile as Erik grudgingly crosses the room and wraps his arms around Moira with glacial slowness. He relaxes into the hug after a moment, though, his bluster gone and the strength of his embrace genuine. Charles will have to see if Erik is up to talking about whatever it is that happened.

"Thanks," Erik mutters.

"Anytime, Lehnsherr," Moira says. She kisses his cheek and releases him, then turns her attention on Raven. When she opens her arms this time, Raven jumps down from the bed and embraces her enthusiastically. "I'll see you tomorrow at daycare, right?" Moira asks. Charles and Erik haven't discussed the schedule for tomorrow, but having Raven at daycare would probably be the easiest way to navigate Charles' release and return home. As long as she wants to go, at least--

"Yeah!" Raven says quickly. "I want to see what happens with the dinosaurs!"

Well, that answers that question.

"It's gonna be a lot of fun," Moira says. "So I'll see you then, and I'll see your dads tomorrow night."

"Have a good night, dear," Charles says, and with a wave, Moira retreats to the hallway. 

Charles sighs and leans back against his pillows. He's still sore and exhausted and hungry, but Raven is climbing back onto the bed to curl up with him and Erik is reaching for his book, sitting close enough that Raven's legs are across his lap and he can rest his hand at the dip of Charles' waist. 

"Okay," Erik says. "Now, if I remember correctly, Harry and his friends had just gotten to Hogwarts after the Dementors had appeared on the Hogwarts Express...."

Erik opens the book and begins reading again. Charles closes his eyes, a smile on his face. He has a long few weeks of boredom and awkward recovery ahead of him, and in the immediate future he's going to need to get Raven fed and start to convince Erik that he needs to take her home and put her to bed rather than stay at the hospital at Charles' bedside all night. For the moment, though, he's happy to forget about that and focus on the sound of Erik's voice and the soft weight of Raven against his chest and the knowledge that, in the scheme of things, this is hardly more than a petty annoyance.

He opens his eyes and looks up at Erik.

_We're okay,_ he tells Erik as he strokes Raven's hair.

Erik looks up at him over the top of the book, without pause in his reading.

_Yeah,_ Erik replies, even as his lips continue to form the words in the story. _We are._

Charles closes his eyes again and drifts back towards sleep.


End file.
